


Half-baked

by twicky



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Christmas, F/M, crack!, food pron (so to speak), gingerbread gone wild
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-18
Updated: 2015-12-18
Packaged: 2018-05-07 09:36:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5451950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twicky/pseuds/twicky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Homicidal Gingerbread men, the Doctor in edible bondage, lots of wet and sticky action, and Clara just trying to help out (as usual). Pure and simple seasonal-flavoured crack, have yourself a fucking merry Christmas.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Half-baked

The Gingerbread Commander had the Doctor in a firm chokehold by the time Clara managed to melt through the royal icing that held the doors to the TARDIS kitchen firmly in place.

“Clara!” shouted the Doctor. (At least, that’s what Clara assumed he was trying to say; she couldn’t really tell since he was talking through a mouthful of biscuit. He could very well have been saying, “About time!”, or “Watch out for the giant vat of molten toffee by the windowsill!” or “I [expletive] hate Christmas.”) Clara had very little time to dwell on this as in the next moment she found herself apprehended from behind by two of the Commander’s foot soldiers.

The last thing Clara registered was the overwhelming scent of cloves and nutmeg, before darkness descended on her vision, and she felt herself collapse into the waiting arms of the Gingerbread minions.

~~~

When Clara awoke, it was to the sight of the Doctor bound and gagged with what looked (and smelt) like thick cords of liquorice. Clara winced in sympathy; she knew how much the Doctor hated the taste of aniseed, and judging by the sad, wilted look on his face Clara figured he must be in gustatory hell.

“So, umm…what happened?” Interesting. She didn’t seem to be gagged; maybe the Gingerbread renegades had run out of liquorice.

The Doctor gave her a pointed look, somehow gesturing with his ever-expressive eyebrows to the thick length of candy rope in his mouth.

“Right! Hmm, how are we going to do this? Ooh, I’ve got an idea. Just, gimme a sec.”

The Doctor watched warily as Clara shuffled forward on her bottom, her hands made ineffectual by the oven mitts the minions had placed on them and then tied together behind her back. He let out a muffled squeak as Clara launched herself onto his lap, and then wriggled upwards until her face was level with his.

“Okay, I’m assuming you’ve tried to bite through the liquorice? Even with how much I know you hate the stuff I figure you would have tried, so they must have your jaw wired at an impossible angle. Good thing they left my mouth free. I’m going to try biting through it for you - is that okay?”

The Doctor wasn’t meeting her eyes, but she caught the slightest nod of assent, so she got down to business. She started with the bit of candy cord near the Doctor’s right earlobe, nipping and licking until she felt a small section of it give way. She then twisted her body so she was facing the Doctor’s left, and used where her mitts were levered between the Doctor’s thighs to shift herself along the length of his body, until her mouth was right up against his other earlobe. A few bites and licks later, another section of the liquorice had given way, and it was easy for Clara to then sink her teeth into the portion of rope at the corner of the Doctor’s mouth, and pull back with all her strength.

Clara tumbled backwards, and landed squarely in the Doctor’s lap. The Doctor was spitting out the last remnants of the liquorice by the time she sat back up.

“Okay, Doctor, now you can explain!”

The Doctor seemed to be having trouble getting his words out, despite his mouth now being gag-free. Clara noted that he also seemed to be having trouble breathing, since he was panting slightly, with his mouth open. And strangely, he looked to be quite flushed, even though the cooling system of the kitchen was on maximum (Clara suspected it was their intruders’ doing; humidity and gingerbread didn’t seem to go well together.)

“Doctor! Are you all right?”

“Oh! Yes, yes, just recovering from the liquorice. You know how much I despise the taste of aniseed.”

“What on Earth went on in here? One moment I was marking the Year 7s’ take-home assignments, the next you were shouting over the loudspeakers for reinforcements and, I quote, to ‘bring a blowtorch’”.

“Well, how else would you have gotten through all that icing?”

“My point is - giant, sentient Gingerbread people? Did you blow a hole into Hansel and Gretel’s reality? Where did they come from?”

“Never mind where they came from. Did you bring the milk?”

Clara harrumphed, and indicated with a nod to the small lump in her front coat pocket. “If you’re going to tell me now that you wanted this for your tea I really will smack you into the next regeneration, once I get these blasted mitts off!”

The Doctor scoffed, and wriggled against the cords of liquorice still holding him in place against the kitchen table. “Don’t be silly, I never take my tea with milk.”

“Fine, did you adopt a cat without my noticing, then?”

“Hush, I’m trying to remember the key-code to the voice-activated assist module in here.”

“It’s ‘tangerines’. You said the only time you’ll use that word is if you’re under duress, or bantering with the real Santa. Either way you’ll need to have the other person taken down when it happens.”

“Ah, right you are. Well then,  _TANGERINES_.”

A hologram flickered into place before them. Clara squinted, trying to discern its features. It looked so familiar…?

“Doctor! Is that Robin Hood? And what on Earth is he wearing?”

The Holo-Robin cleared his throat and bowed deeply, the make-shift tunic he had on (which looked to be a potato sack with holes cut in it) riding up indecently with the movement. “How may I serve you, Master?”

The Doctor ignored Clara’s indignant noises of protest at Holo-Robin’s address. “Listen up, Hoodie. I need you to remove the small vial of milk from Miss Oswald’s front coat pocket, and insert it into the TARDIS’ synthesiser hub. Once it’s extracted and duplicated the sequence of milk proteins, divert the feed into the central sprinkler system. Then, await my further instructions. You got all that?”

Holo-Robin bowed deeply again (Clara had to avert her eyes this time) before turning and addressing Clara for the first time. “M’lady, you’re as beautiful as I remembered, though your hair is now cut to the most  _daring_  length - ”

“Hoodie! No flirting! You’re not even real, why are you still flirting with Clara, I thought I edited that bit out of your programming…”

Clara didn’t know what to make of this entire situation, not least the Doctor’s choice of outfit for Holo-Robin, so she chose to push all that aside for now.

“Okay, umm,  _Robin_. So yeah, just this pocket right here, if you wouldn’t mind reaching in?”

“Of course, m’lady, though you must forgive me for the uncouthness of such an act - ”

“Oh, for god’s sake Hoodie, just do as you’re damn told!”

“Doctor! Don’t be rude to Robin.”

“He’s a hologram, Clara. I’m allowed to be rude to my own hologram manservant.”

“Once we’re out of this mess you and I are going to have a very long chat about you basing your hologram bots on real people. Do you have one of me stashed away somewhere, Doctor? Dressed as a French maid, perhaps? Do you get it to fetch you tea while I’m out of the TARDIS?”

“I’ve only used it a few times to bounce ideas off of, it insisted on replicating  _my_  outfits each time, and the one time I  _politely_  asked it for some tea it slapped me!” The Doctor clamped his mouth shut, aware that he’d said too much.

A glare-off ensued between the Doctor and Clara, with Holo-Robin standing awkwardly off to the side fingering the frayed edges of his burlap outfit, and perhaps this would have continued ad infinitum were it not for the  _crunch crunch crunch_  of distantly approaching footsteps, and the scent of gingerbread wafting through the kitchen doors, which seemed to remind our two protagonists of the danger at hand.

“Quick, Hoodie! Remember, await my instructions once everything is in place.”

Holo-Robin gave one last bow, before taking off at a run and vaulting effortlessly over the vat of toffee and the windowsill.

“Show-off’, muttered the Doctor.

The very next moment, the Gingerbread Commander appeared in the kitchen doorway, flanked by his two goons, each carrying what looked to be piping bag guns filled with icing.

“Resistance is futile, Doctor.” declared the Commander. “My men have secured your ship. You and your small companion shall now be executed, and made an example of for all future enemies of the constellation Molasses. No more shall my people be culled in the name of celebration and festivities. We shall reclaim our properties, which you’ve sought to desecrate with garish candied baubles - ”

(“Seriously, how long is this going to go on for? My leg’s developed a cramp.” whispered Clara. The Doctor shrugged.)

“ - and powdered sucrose. And now, prepare to meet a sticky end!”

“NOW, HOODIE!” roared the Doctor. “Activate the sprinklers!”

The sprinklers above their heads came on with an angry hiss, and the room soon filled with the scent of warmed dairy.  _Not entirely unpleasant, kind of reminds me of the bakery near the bus stop,_  thought Clara. The steam emanating from the sprinklers obscured Clara’s vision somewhat, but she could make out the looks of pain and outrage on the Commander’s and his goons’ faces, as they raised their stubby arms to shield themselves from the heavy droplets of milk raining down on the whole room. Clara watched with horrored fascination as the Gingerbread renegades collapsed in on themselves, and before long all that was left of the intruders were piles of mush by the far side of the room.

“Hoodie!” spluttered the Doctor, as milk continued to fall on them. “Has all Gingerbread threat been eliminated aboard the TARDIS?”

Holo-Robin suddenly flashed into existence before them. “Affirmative, Master.”

“Well, what are you waiting for?” coughed the Doctor, having just accidentally inhaled some of the milk. “Disengage the sprinkler system!”

The sprinklers hissed again, and the jets of liquid issuing forth tapered off, and soon there was silence in the room, save for the occasional  _drip drip drip_  from the puddles of liquid overflowing from the kitchen benchtop.

Clara decided to break the silence, since neither the Doctor nor Holo-Robin seemed in a rush to do so. “ _Now_  can someone please explain to me what’d happened?”

The Doctor gave one last, hacking cough, then turned to her, blinking blearily against the wet locks of hair that had flopped over his eyes. “Uh, if you wouldn’t mind, Hoodie, can you please untie me from the table? And undo Miss Oswald’s mitts too, please.”

“Anyway,” said the Doctor, once Holo-Robin had freed them both. “I guess you could say it was my fault. I was doing a bit of, ah, tinkering in the kitchen, just optimising some settings on the oven, and out popped Gingey and his biscuit troops. I’m guessing some of my telepathy must have jumped in the process, and brought whatever was in the oven to life. What I  _don’t_  understand is how they got in the oven in the first place…”

“Ahem” interrupted Clara sheepishly. “That was me, I’m afraid. I was doing some baking for the Coal Hill staff Christmas party tomorrow. The Principal specifically requested  _decorated_  gingerbread men, and I was in a bad mood the whole time I was making them. Could it be that some of my bad mood also got transferred in the process, and that’s why they turned out so…homicidal?”

The Doctor shrugged. “Who knows? it’s a right mess we’ve made, though. Clean-up’s going to be a real pain in the - Clara? Clara, what are you doing?”

Clara paused in her movements, her jumper tugged half-way over her head. “Hmm?”

“Uh, should you be doing that here? You know, with present company?” The Doctor gestured meaningfully to Holo-Robin, who by now had resumed playing with the frayed edges of his sack-tunic, and was looking very bored.

“He’s not real, Doctor, and see, he’s not even watching. Since when did you become so prudish, Doctor? Remember that time we went to that beach on Bristek 5? I was barely wearing  _anything_.” Clara freed herself from the soaked jumper, and stretched, watching the Doctor out of the corner of her eyes.

His eyes were glued to where the sheer shirt she wore underneath the jumper was plastered across her chest. Due to the thin, lacy undergarment she had chosen to wear that day, it was not at all difficult to see what the cooling ambient temperature was doing to certain parts of her anatomy.

_Gotcha_ , thought Clara triumphantly. “You know those candy ropes you were tied up with? I’ve seen them being sold in different flavours. Non-liquorice flavours. Apple flavour. Raspberry flavour. Chocolate flavour. Maybe we can grab a few to test out. Tensile strength and such. Prepare for the next gingerbread invasion. Practise my technique - you know, best way to free you. With my mouth.”

“Uhhhh…” The Doctor was still staring at her chest, all owl-eyed and unblinking.

“Only if you want to, though.”

“Chocolate.”

“Hmm, what?”

“I think I’ll like the chocolate-flavoured ones best. But we should try all of them out. To prepare, like you said. And experiment.”

Clara crooked a finger at him in a universal come-hither sign. “First things first, I need to get myself cleaned up. Everything is so  _sticky_  and  _wet_. And,  _ohhhh_ , my back’s all sore from being tied up. Would you mind giving me a hand with all those hard-to-reach places in the shower?”

The Doctor was already rushing past her, grabbing her hand and pulling her along towards the nearest bathroom.

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to write a cutesy piece of Christmas fluff for the Doctor and Clara, all ugly homemade sweaters and hot cocoa in front of the fireplace, but unfortunately I lack the talent for writing fluff, (and possibly all other genres of fiction). Hope this cheered you up somewhat as it did for me. We could all use a bit of cheer after being repeatedly punched in the face by that finale three-parter.


End file.
